


Caipirinha is fine, too

by Raspberyl



Category: Skullgirls
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raspberyl/pseuds/Raspberyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's relentless, and he's far too honest to pretend he doesn't enjoy it. College AU, Beobella, sexual themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caipirinha is fine, too

**Author's Note:**

> College AU where Beowulf is a retired pro-wrestler who now works as coach for the College’s wrestling team and Cerebella is one of the teams best members. More here http://raspberyl.tk/post/122993659777/college-au-time-more-a-college-au-where

"So, where does it hurt?"

'My butt', she wanted to answer, because god, it really did hurt after an hour of sitting on the horribly hard benches of the gym pretending she had injured herself during a wrestling match with one of her teammates. But instead, Cerebella presented the man her leg, smiling a little as she dragged her hand over the entirety of its length.

"Dunno—All of it hurts. Maybe I pulled a muscle?" She asked innocently.

Beowulf clicked his tongue. "Not gonna lie to you, Bella. I don't know much about this stuff—Back in the day I had nurses around me all the time and they took care of this stuff for me. I'll check, but if it's too bad we might have to take you to Valentine's."

"Ugh, really?"

He grinned. "Yeah, I don't like her either, but she's really good."

"Blah. Fine, whatever you say, coach."

The older man nodded, then took off her shoe, eyes on her feet the whole time. She felt a surge of evil satisfaction bout from within her, because she knew why her usually loud and confident team coach seemed so subdued: The last two weeks she had been particularly _forward_ with him, and he had done a terrible job pretending he wasn't interested. So now, whenever they were alone like this, Beowulf was on his guard like a gigantic frightened wolf pup.

"Does it hurt when I do this?" He asked, slowly making her move her foot from side to side and pressing her ankle with his fingers.

"Not much." She lied absent-mindedly, her eyes on his lips. "It does feel like it pulls something over here."

He looked up to see where she meant, following her fingers that traveled from her knee to the inside of her thigh. They buried themselves in supple skin as she opened her legs slightly, and Beowulf gulped.

"See? Here."

"I—yeah—uh, okay."

He looked away nervously and Cerebella had a hard time holding back a giggle—Too obvious, he was just too obvious.

"SO—Uh!" He said after a moment, suddenly jumping up. "Since that's kinda weird, and I really don't know that much about this—Valentine—"

Her smile was replaced with a pout. "Hey, c'mon! 'You just gonna give up on me? You know I don't like her and I really don't wanna go to her unless I _really_ need to. Please?"

Beowulf let out a rumbling sound out of his throat, his frown deep.

"..."

"Pretty please?"

A sigh.

"Fffine, fine." 

"Awright! Thank you for your infinite kindness, coach~"

He smiled a little at her playful tone. That was the good thing about the retired wrestler: He was too honest to hide that he liked being around her. It was exactly that what kept her trying to break his defenses, really—It was _his_ fault that she couldn't stop flirting, if you thought about it! How was she supposed to resist if he kept showing so much interest?

Her own thoughts amused her, but she didn't have more time to do any more thinking as his large hands continued moving up her leg and squeezed every once in a while. Cerebella automatically replied 'No' every time he asked if it hurt here or there, too focused on the feeling of his calloused fingers on her skin and counting the times his eyes traveled up her legs to her belly and higher, with curiosity and unconscious lust.

He was just so _obvious._

"It kinda hurts here."

"Huh?"

He blinked, seemingly in some sort of trance, too. Cerebella smiled and leaned forward.

"Here, dummy."

She made sure he got a plentiful view of her cleavage when she reached down for his hand. His eyes went from her chest to her face—And then, reminded of the fact that she was looking at him, he looked at her hand instead. She guided him to a spot he had missed in his examination, and he nodded.

"O... kay, so it also hurts here?"

"That's what I said. If you squeeze, it kinda feels weird... up here."

She leaned down once again, except this time she reached not for his hand but his own leg, gently running her hand up and down his inner thigh. Beowulf's head jumped up in surprise, and getting close enough to his face to feel his beard against her lips, she whispered:

"Right here about here, Beo."

He blinked and looked to the side, his nose bumping with hers and his lips nearly on hers. The man looked at her in the eye and then—

"... You're not injured!" He finally shouted as he realized her intentions, trying to get away from her only to have her keep him in place with her other hand pulling his shirt. She rubbed his thigh again, fluttering her eyelashes seductively.

"Oh, I am. I really need you to take care of me, coach."

She kissed his cheek and Beowulf jumped like she had pressed a taser to his face instead.

"Nah—Nuh-uh, no—Nope—Bella—!"

Cerebella let go of him as he started struggling harder, but she didn't stop smiling when he pointed his finger at her accusingly.

"STOP DOING THAT." He yelled, his voice unsteady. He didn't sound as serious about it as he wanted her to believe he was, and she couldn't help but grin wickedly.

"Doing what? I'm not doing anything."

"I could get _fired_!" He growled between gritted teeth as he looked around nervously—Thankfully, the gym was just as empty as it was when he had started checking up on her.

"But I'm not doing anything." Bella repeated, rising up from the bench. She walked towards him and Beowulf stumbled back until his back met a wall nearby. "I'm just..." She pressed her chest against him. "... giving you something to think about. Nothing more."

"You—"

"So when you feel like asking me for a little help with your own... problems." An indignant gasp escaped his mouth when she pressed her palm against his crotch, rubbing his half-hard bulge daringly. "You give me a call, alright?"

She placed a kiss on his chest, too lazy to reach for his face, and as she walked away, she made sure to gently sway her hips in a way she was sure he'd think about for the rest of the afternoon.

"..."

Beowulf stood there for a moment, his mouth open in disbelief.

He was breathless.

Dammit—Dammit—She always did that to him, _dammit_ —!

Bella flirting with him was like running a marathon, except that instead of running he was holding back the urge to not jump her and recreate all of his very intense, very _explicit_ nightly dreams. And every day, every day more, obstacles came in the way—It was hard, too damn hard to resist that little, manipulative...!

“Hmmmfgmmmh...”

"... Hard day?"

"Hmfmhmmf." He grumbled against his pillow back at home. "Hard is one way to say it."

Annie didn't answer right away, noticing his wet hair. That meant he had taken a cold shower—Which meant...

"Circus girl?"

"Yeah..."

He sighed, and his roommate sighed along with him. It was sad seeing such a gigantic, generally threatening-looking man look so pathetically broken over an overly-interested student.

"You know you can't act on it, though."

"Annie, I'm dying."

She rolled her eyes.

"Don't be so overdramatic. I'm sure you'll survive not sleeping with her." An agonizing whimper was muffled by the pillow, and Annie smiled sympathetically. "You want a drink?"

"... I want a Bella."

His friend stood up and walked towards the mini bar.

"Cachaça it is."


End file.
